CHAPTER VII.

LIFE IN THE COUNTRY.

"Here," said Mr. Sick, "is an invitation for you and me,
and minister to go and visit Sir Littleeared Bighead,
down to Yorkshire. You can go if you like, and for once,
p'raps it's worth goin' to see how these chaps first kill
time, and then how time kills them in turn. Eatin',
drinkin', sleepin', growlin', fowlin', and huntin' kills
time; and gout, aperplexy, dispepsy, and blue devils
kills them. They are like two fightin' dogs, one dies of
the thrashin' he gets, and t'other dies of the wounds he
got a killin' of him. Tit for tat; what's sarce for the
goose, is sarce for the gander.

"If you want to go, Minister will go with you; but hang
me if I do. The only thing is, it'll puzzle you to get
him away, if he gets down there. You never see such a
crotchical old critter in your life as he is. He flies
right off the handle for nothin'. He goes strayin' away
off in the fields and gullies, a browsin' about with a
hammer, crackin' up bits of stones like walnuts, or
pickin' up old weeds, faded flowers, and what not; and
stands starin' at 'em for ever so long, through his
eye-glass, and keeps a savin' to himself, 'Wonderful
provision of natur!' Airth and seas! what does he mean?
How long would a man live on such provision, I should
like to know, as them bitter yarbs.